


for whom the grail flows

by seraphicradiance (radiantcerulean)



Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, That's Not How The Holy Grail Works, Threesome - F/M/M, Wish Fulfillment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 02:33:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5565916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiantcerulean/pseuds/seraphicradiance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saber wins the Grail, and it grants a wish she would never admit to wanting - a revived Lancer, a humble King of Heroes, and human bodies for the three of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for whom the grail flows

**Author's Note:**

> If Nasu can explain away plot inconsistencies with “multiverse!” then I can write gratuitous sexy fic where Gil isn’t the king of jerks.

When Saber wakes, her body feels heavy. Her eyelids droop back down as she opens them, and the yawn she lets out takes such a toll on her that she feels the need to go right back to sleep. She stretches out with a grunt, detesting the pervading sluggishness in her small limbs. There is a shifting next to her, and the servant realises she is not alone.

She fixes her tired eyes on the muscular back of the figure that lies before her, sweeping her gaze up to the thick, dark locks of hair, and down again, to where the small of the back disappears beneath a thin silken sheet. She notices the room is reminiscent of those in the Einzbern mansion. Rich velvet curtains hang against the windows, leaving a few antique lamps as the only light source. She does not recall falling asleep in such a place, much less with a man next to her. Propping herself up on one elbow, she watches the man carefully for any movement, when an arm snakes around her waist from behind.

Skin on skin. Her body stiffens. She hears the mattress groan as someone leans in to her .

"Awake already, Arturia?"

Their breath tickles in her ear. The voice is soft, seductive, but familiar, which startles the King of Knights into alertness. She turns, quickly, and the mattress makes a noise of protest. Her breath catches in her throat as her eyes meet the lascivious red ones of the last man she wanted to see. The way the golden king looms above her, not even attempting to mask his lust, makes her feel threatened. He is a lion with cornered prey. Her eyes narrow. She hisses at him, "Archer."

He tilts his head ever so slightly, an unreadable expression settling on his face. He moves to stroke his hand against her cheek, but she slaps it away and scrambles back, knocking against the man behind her, leaning against his frame.

"Arturia," the blonde man frowns. "Whatever is the matter?" His tone carries none of the usual condescension or arrogance she has grown so used to. Instead, the way he speaks is kind, inviting even.

She feels the other man begin to move, the back that supported her disappearing, only for two strong hands to settle on her arms and give her a gentle squeeze. Her head turns to face the man, his grip on her causing fear to pool in her stomach.

"Mm. Good morning, Arturia."

Diarmuid ua Duibhne wears a lackadaisical smile on his face as he leans in and kisses her chastely. She feels her heart hammering against her chest, and though she still doesn't understand just what is happening she finds herself disappointed when the lancer pulls his mouth away from hers. When they duelled as opponents, she had suppressed the voice inside herself that pondered what it would be like to exchange affections with him, rather than exchanging blows. Her eyes linger on his lips.

"Hmph."

Archer is pouting now, though Saber hardly spares him a glance, and Diarmuid lets out a chuckle.

"Oh Arturia, you should not play favourites. Look, you have caused the King of Heroes offence!"

"I..." she tears her eyes away from the lips she craves so desperately, and clears her throat. "Diarmuid. What is going on? You... I saw you... Die."

The memory is painful to her. The look of despair on the knight's face as he died; his curses at his master, her master, and even herself; the mercy killing she had to perform on Kayneth afterwards; and the look of complete disinterest on Kiritsugu's face. She fights back tears, but he only crinkles his brow.

"Did you have a nightmare, my King?" He takes her hand in his and kisses it apologetically.

"No," she protests. "I-"

"She's been acting strange this morning," the King of Heroes interrupts. "Perhaps she is unwell."

He approaches her slowly, and while she does eye him warily, she does not stop him. Concern for others was not something she ever expected the gold man to express. Her eyes study his as he presses his hand to her forehead, then to her cheek. His touch is warm, and she has to stop herself thinking how much she likes this side of the usually arrogant king. With his ego contained, she is able to appreciate how handsome a man he is.

"No fever." he states, and he trades a glance with Diarmuid, who shrugs. "Arturia. Is this some form of role play? Diarmuid and I have no idea what you're talking about."

Saber wonders when the lancer and the archer became so familiar with each other, and when the latter had become so familiar with her. She can not recall a time when he had used her true name. She glances between the two men, feeling helpless and lost.

"Shall we call for a doctor, Gil?" Diarmuid suggests.

A giggle echoes through the room, and a figure shifts into view through the air.

"There's no need for that now, is there, Saber?"

Saber's head snaps up and she lets out a gasp.

"I- Irisviel?"

"Well, not quite." The pale woman giggles again and winks at her. "I'm surprised, Saber. You don't want the Grail to grant your wish after all?"

"Of course I do!" she retorts. At those words, Diarmuid slowly runs a hand down her torso, and Archer begins to press kisses up her arm. She shudders involuntarily, wondering what on earth the men are doing. Do they not see this -thing- in Irisviel's form before them?

"I will win the Grail and save Britain!"

Another giggle escapes the false Irisviel. "Oh Saber. You naive girl! The Grail cannot - I cannot - be used to undo your reign as King of Britain. The miracle of which you ask - to change the past - is beyond what I am capable of. Bu~ut, I do believe I chose the next best thing, wouldn't you agree?"

Her eyes brighten as the shock dawns on Saber's face. Behind the servant, the lancer plants kisses on her shoulders, but she does not react to him.

"Yes. Rejoice Saber, for the Grail is yours. And I have granted the true wish of your heart."

She gestures to the men that accompany Saber. Diarmuid's lips brush against her neck, and she feels the flick of his tongue before he nibbles her skin ever so gently. At the same time, Archer moves to her breasts, rubbing circles over the nipples with his thumbs, kissing the valley that lies between them. Saber struggles against the oppressive feeling that tells her to lean into it, to pull them closer, to cry out, and oh, how she wants to but she mustn't, she mustn't.

"This," she says firmly, staring the Grail down. "This is not what I -hah- wished fo- ngh!- for."

The Grail smiles knowingly as Saber struggles against submitting to the seduction.

"If that is true, Saber, then you must simply tell them to stop. Though you will not be granted a second wish. The physical bodies granted to you, to Diarmuid ua Duibhne, and to Gilgamesh of Uruk will be destroyed; they returned to the Throne of Heroes, while you are sent back to Camlann."

With that warning, the air shifts again, and the Grail is gone.

"Gilgamesh" she repeats, saying Archer's true name for the first time. The blonde man looks up at her with a smile so genuinely happy it makes Saber want to melt.

"So you haven't forgotten me after all."

He goes to kiss her lips this time, but she holds up her hand. His face falls.

"Ah.. Wait.. Diarmuid, wait."

The men pull away from her, and she sits herself against the headboard, pulling her knees up to rest her chin on them.

"I just... A moment, please."

She needs to process what the Grail told her, and she cannot focus on it with the two of them continuing like that. But she is careful with her words; she does not tell them to stop, not yet. She watches as they glance at each other, then at her, then back to each other. Gilgamesh inclines his head ever so slightly, and Diarmuid grins before leaning towards the king. Saber is surprised to see the two men exchange a long kiss, which grows hungrier the longer they spend pressed together. She stares, engrossed, as the golden king eases the dark haired man back against the bed, and cages him there with his own body. He showers the man beneath him with quick kisses, and the British king thinks to herself that this is certainly not the Archer she knew.

She recalls the Grail's words, how it spoke of granting them physical bodies, and wonders if that was what humanised him so, or if it was a part of her own wish. As she ponders, Gilgamesh is all over Diarmuid; kissing, licking, biting. The guttural groans of the Irishman bring a furious blush to her cheeks. She feels a stirring inside of her, a heat in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes follow Gilgamesh as he shuffles backwards, removes the underthings in his way, and takes the other man into his mouth. A fire ignites within her. Diarmuid's eyes are closed, his hands grasping the silk sheets and bunching them in his palms, back arching whenever he gasps, and Saber can't help but notice just how beautiful he looks right then.

The sounds Diarmuid makes as Gilgamesh licks and sucks are music to her ears, music she never knew she could appreciate. She sees Gilgamesh's head dip as he services the lancer, how he occasionally wraps his palm around Diarmuid's length below his mouth and strokes. She notices how Diarmuid's cries change when the golden king uses his hand, how the flames inside her roar and lick against her skin as she listens to him. She wonders if she could pluck those notes from him with her own mouth. She wonders how Gilgamesh sings when he is touched like that. The fire burns and threatens to consume her thoughts of Britain, of her mistakes, and even herself entirely. She squirms, trying to rid herself of the alien feeling, but it is no use. For a lifetime she had suppressed her wants for the sake of the kingdom, but with her dream of salvation dead, the temptation before her is too much and she wants, wants in a way she never had before; wants them to stoke and kindle the fire, to set her ablaze, to devour her along with the flames.

She sets her eyes on Gilgamesh, and before she can second guess herself she is pulling his hips off the bed, turning them to face her, ridding him of his underwear, and wrapping her hand around his erection. She feels him harden against her touch; sees the shiver run down his body. She strokes it gently, and the fire flares when when he lets out a muffled moan. His eyes are fixed on her, still licking and sucking; pleading without a word to continue stroking him, but she doesn't like to be one-upped so she licks her lips and presses her tongue gingerly against his tip, and when she sees his eyes roll back in head as he _whimpers_ she gives herself to the flames. She can hear him increasing his own pace as she licks him up and down, then presses her lips to the head and pushes him into her mouth. He is warm, skin soft despite his hardness, and she decides she likes the taste of him as she does her best to copy the technique he displayed with Diarmuid.

The chorus the men form drives her wild and it's so hard to keep her legs still as they burn. One hand still on Gilgamesh, she takes the other to her tightly clenched thighs, driving it between her legs, trying to wipe the feeling away but it just gets worse. Diarmuid seems to notice her struggling, as he reaches out to her and pushes her hand away, expertly shoving her panties aside and sliding a finger inside of her. Saber moans onto the golden king's hardness as she writhes under Diarmuid's skilful touch. The Irish knight relaxes inside her for a moment as he lets out a deep groan, and Gilgamesh shifts his upper body and entwines his fingers in the King of Knights' hair.

Diarmuid slips in a second finger to join his first, and Saber feels a wave of bliss wash over her. He is faster, more urgent in the way he thrusts them into her, showing no mercy even though her legs threaten to fail her, and she just wants to grind on his fingers and have them press deeper, deeper, deeper in rough thrusts. Gilgamesh is moaning her name now, as she quickens her pace, wrapping her tongue around him, lapping at him hungrily. His hand is at her chin, intending to pry her off of him, but she refuses, casting her eyes up at him and quickening her pace further, feeling triumphant when he shudders and cries out and spills inside of her and she sucks him clean, licking her lips while he watches. The two kings' mouths crash together as they kiss, and he whispers her name like it's a treasured secret.

A look is exchanged with Diarmuid, and suddenly they are turning her over, laying her back against the bed with her head resting in Gilgamesh's lap. Diarmuid leans in to kiss Gilgamesh, then to kiss her, and retreats to her legs, kissing up them as he gently nudges them apart. Gilgamesh sighs, running his hands through the woman's soft hair.

"How'd you end up being the one to touch her first, with that terrible luck of yours?" he asks, only half serious.

The dark haired man chuckles as if to acknowledge the question, but gives no answer. The King of Heroes' slim fingers trace down the King of Knights' cheek, and move to her lips when she gasps as Diarmuid's mouth presses between her thighs. Her moans are captured in the kisses stolen by her fellow king as Diarmuid's tongue continues to pay her worship. Gilgamesh's hands slide down her body to her breasts, and he teases her with strokes and gentle squeezes, watching her twist and pant as he smiles coyly. He takes notice of every hitched breath, every gasp and sigh, every time she almost loses herself and anchors herself to his arms so she does not drift away.

The fire spreads through her, scorching and turning her molten until Diarmuid finally douses it as her back arches and she cries out in joy to see Avalon once more, before the sight fades and she is back on that bed in the unfamiliar room. In the afterglow, Diarmuid presses wet, reverent kisses to her knuckles. Gilgamesh growls and pulls the other man towards him, locking their lips together and kissing him with such force that it looks as if Diarmuid might be devoured. The golden king sucks greedily on the lancer's tongue, stealing a taste of Camelot's king for himself and relishing it.

Saber breathes heavily, aftershocks still rippling through her body, smiling shyly up at both of them, and wonders to herself if it would be so bad to settle for this wish.


End file.
